


Fuel For Thought (Now I'm More Lonely Than Before)

by arysa13



Series: love's always on time [4]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Happy Ending, Humor, Musicians, Strangers to Lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-29
Updated: 2016-03-29
Packaged: 2018-05-29 21:34:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6394714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arysa13/pseuds/arysa13
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clarke, famous pop star, can't write a song, so her manager Indra enlists in the help of Bellamy Blake.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fuel For Thought (Now I'm More Lonely Than Before)

**Author's Note:**

> Fourth fic in my two week challenge! These are meant to be short but this one kind of got away from me #yolo  
> I am really proud of this one though, so I hope y'all like it!
> 
> Help me out with the challenge by sending me prompts! You can find me on tumblr @ keiraknighted or cgriff

Theoretically, Clarke knows how to write a song. A few chords, some lyrics. It really shouldn’t be that hard. And yet, when she’s sitting on her bed, guitar in her arms, phone ready to record whatever comes out of her mouth… nothing comes.

She’s been begging her label to let her have a chance to show everyone that she’s more than just a bubblegum pop singer who sings other people’s songs. Not that there’s anything wrong with that. She enjoys pop music and she’s managed to establish a career and have two successful albums that way, but she’s ready to branch out. Plus, she’s getting tired of the constant criticism of her. That she’s talentless and superficial. Of course those comments come from haters and not fans, but she still feels like she has something to prove.

She’s convinced her manager, Indra, and the label to let her write a couple of songs for them and if they like them they’ll let her write the whole album. But the problem is, she’s supposed to be presenting them tomorrow and she hasn’t even written one song. She glances down at the note she’s written on her phone with some lyric ideas. They all just seem like the same generic love song that everyone’s writing about. And that’s probably because she’s just repeating what love is _supposed_ to feel like, seeing as she doesn’t know what it _actually_ feels like. She’s never been in love.

Clarke doesn’t necessarily think that’s a bad thing. It’s hard to find time for love when you’ve one of the most popular music artists in the industry for five years. She started when she was 17, so between recording and touring, there is much time for meaningful relationships. Her publicist, Anya, did try to set her up with someone once, with Indra’s blessing, but Finn turned out to be a total disaster and kind of a stalker. She has a restraining order against him now, and if he gets anywhere near her Lincoln, her bodyguard, has been instructed to punch his lights out.

Maybe she should write about that? She strums a G chord on her guitar.

“ _They set me up with you and we went on date,  
You were pretty cute and you weren’t even late,_

_When I went home you were stuck in my head,_

_I thought you would call me but you stalked me instead,”_ Clarke sings, making up the lyrics as she goes along. Hm, not exactly relatable. Also the lyrics and the melody are pretty shit as far as Clarke is concerned. She groans, flopping back on the bed as she drags her hand down the guitar strings, causing a horrible cacophony.  She wills anything else to come into her head, but after twenty minutes of lying on her bed, wracking her brain for some semblance of an interesting song concept she resigns herself to writing down the terrible Finn lyrics. It’s the best she’s got.

-

It’s safe to say when she presents the song to Indra, and Marcus Kane, the head of the label, they aren’t exactly impressed.

“What did you think?” She asks when she’s finished playing. Indra’s stony face says it all. Kane grimaces at her.

“Look, Clarke,” he says, and Clarke braces for the blow. “It’s not exactly what we’re looking for.”

“It’s complete shit is what he’s trying to say,” Indra says dryly and Clarke flinches. Okay, it’s not like she hadn’t known it was shit. She doesn’t take it to heart.

“I know,” she wails. “Just give me a bit more time to work on something, please,” she begs.

“You’ve already had a month, Clarke,” Kane sighs.

“But most of that time I was on tour,” Clarke protests. “I didn’t have a lot of _time-,”_ Kane cuts her off.

“I think it would be better if you just keep singing songs written for you. We’ve got some really great ones for you to hear. Sia even wrote one especially for you,” he says gently. Clarke sighs in resignation. She can’t believe she screwed up her one shot at getting to write her own songs.

“I think we should give her another chance,” Indra says, surprising both Clarke and Kane.

“What?” they say in unison.

“Look, I had a feeling this would happen,” Indra says, mostly to Kane.

“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” Clarke mutters.

“She’s never had any experience writing songs. But you and I both know, she’s only going to gain fans if she can say she’s written at least some of her own songs,” Indra points out, ignoring Clarke’s sullen expression.

“Yes, but you heard that song,” Kane glances at Clarke and she rolls her eyes. It wasn’t _that_ bad.

“So we bring in another songwriter. Someone with experience, who needs exposure. We can even put a duet on the album,” Indra suggests. Kane strokes his beard thoughtfully.

“You know, that’s not a bad idea,” he nods. “Did you have someone in mind?” Indra nods.

“I’ve been talking to Clarke’s publicist, Anya. She knows someone who’s been in the industry for a while but he hasn’t been able to break out yet,” Indra tells Kane as Clarke listens intently. “According to Anya, his publicist and manager is the same person, and he’s shit at his job.”

“Great, let’s set up a meeting,” Kane grins and Indra nods. They both look at Clarke then, and for some reason it feels rather ominous.

-

Bellamy Blake is not exactly what Clarke expected. For one thing, she had thought he’d be happy to be working with her (otherwise why did he agree to it?) but this is not the case. This may have something to do with the fact that she’s a “stuck up pop princess” (his words) and he seems to have a case of music superiority, where he thinks that if something is popular it must be terrible.

For another thing, he’s much more attractive than Clarke had imagined, and she suddenly regrets the messy bun and lack of make up. Though she doubts that would make much difference. He seems to hate her on principle.

His manager/publicist/bodyguard _is_ shit at his job, but Bellamy seems to like it that way. Once all the introductions are out of the way, Indra, Kane, and Bellamy’s “guy” (again, his words), Miller, leave them to it. They’re at the studio, in one of the writing rooms, which Clarke is glad of. Neutral space where they can both feel comfortable.

“So, where do we start?” Clarke asks, once they’re alone together. Bellamy raises an eyebrow at her suspiciously.

“What, you mean you aren’t running the show?” he scoffs.

“Well... isn’t that why you’re here?” Clarke says slowly. “To teach me how to write a song?” He narrows his eyes at her thoughtfully.

“I suppose it is,” he says cryptically and Clarke eyes him in confusion. Is she missing something?

“So…?” she prompts when Bellamy doesn’t say anything else.

“Let’s hear your ideas,” Bellamy says flippantly, sprawling over one of the couches in the room.

“Didn’t Indra tell you? All my ideas suck,” Clarke rolls her eyes. “I wrote a song about how this guy I went on a couple of dates with stalked me. It was awful.”

“The song or the stalking?” Bellamy clarifies.

“Well, the stalking was bad, but I was talking about the song,” Clarke tells him.

“I’ll be the judge of that,” Bellamy says.

“You… actually want to hear it?” Clarke grimaces. Bellamy nods. Clarke puffs out some air before picking up her guitar and playing him the song. She glances up at him a couple of times as she sings and she can see he’s trying not to laugh. Not very hard, obviously, as a snicker escapes him whenever there’s a particularly heinous line. She plays the whole song anyway, and Bellamy gives her a sarcastic slow clap when she’s done.

“You were right. It’s awful,” he grins and Clarke scowls.

“That’s why you’re supposed to be helping me. Not laughing at me,” she reminds him.

“Right,” Bellamy nods. “Well, you definitely need the help,” he smirks mid sentence, “so let’s get started. Miller said we have to write at least five songs together and one of them has to be a duet to go on your album.”

“You can have a duet on your album too if you want,” Clarke tells him.

“Yeah, like my fans are going to appreciate an album featuring Princess Peach,” Bellamy rolls his eyes and Clarke pokes her tongue out at him. “What do you want to write about?” Clarke screws up her nose and shrugs. “Love? Heartbreak? Money? Friendship? Hooking up with dudes at the club?” Bellamy throws suggestions at her.

“Love and heartbreak seem to be the go to topics,” Clarke says hesitantly.

“Alright, when was the last time you had your heart broken?” Bellamy asks her, and Clarke feels like it would be kind of a personal question for someone she’s just met to ask her, _if_ she’d actually ever had her heart broken.

“Uh, never,” she tells him.

“Of course not,” Bellamy snorts and Clarke can’t help but feel he’s formed some kind of opinion of her that she has no say in, and that probably isn’t all that true. “Let’s scratch that for now then. Last time you were in love?” Clarke shrugs again and Bellamy stares at her expectantly.

“I don’t know,” she mutters. Somehow, for some reason, she doesn’t want him to know she’s never been in love. He already thinks she’s some kind of blonde, control freak, bubblegum, spoiled brat, bimbo princess, and she doesn’t want to add heartless bitch to the list.

“Look, Clarke, I know we’ve just met, but if we’re going to write good music we’re going to have to get real with each other,” he says impatiently. “Personally, I don’t give a fuck about your love life, okay? But if you want to write about it, you need to talk to me about it. So, tell me about one time you’ve been in love.”

“I’ve never been in love, okay?” Clarke finally admits. She expects Bellamy to roll his eyes again, or make another snarky comment, but instead he just kind of gapes at her for a moment.

“Never?” he asks incredulously. Clarke shakes her head, and for some reason she feels embarrassed about it.

“I’ve never had the time,” she feels the need to justify.

“That’s not exactly how love works, Clarke,” he says dryly. Clarke just shrugs again but she won’t look at him. Bellamy seems to sense her sudden vulnerability and eases off. “You’ll meet someone someday, Clarke,” he tells her, so gently that Clarke has to make eye contact with him to make sure it’s really him saying the words.

“I know,” she agrees finally, although she’s less than confident about that fact. What if she never falls in love?

“Okay,” Bellamy nods. “Any other topics you might like to write about?”

“I don’t know,” Clarke says noncommittally.

“Look,” Bellamy huffs, going back to his old self. “How about we call it a day? Go home and make a list of things in your life you think could work in a song.”

“Are you giving me homework?” Clarke asks, a smirk playing across her lips despite herself.

“Yes. I’m your teacher now,” Bellamy says seriously. “We can meet again next week and hopefully we’ll have some more luck.”

“Yes, Mr. Blake,” Clarke teases. Bellamy rolls his eyes but she swears she sees him hide a slight smile.

-

Clarke comes up with exactly zero good ideas in the following week, and she’s less concerned about the fact that she’ll never be able to write a good song than she is about how Bellamy is going to react when he finds out she hasn’t done the homework he set her.

It’s not like she didn’t _try,_ but she just doesn’t think she has any experiences worth writing about. Obviously love and heartbreak are off the table. Money doesn’t really seem like something she cares about enough to write about. Friendship… she doesn’t actually have that many friends. She certainly doesn’t have a Taylor Swift style squad that she can brag about. Lincoln is probably the person she spends the most time with, and she does consider him a friend, but she doubts he would appreciate having a song written about him. She can’t even really write about hooking up at the club because she’s never done that either. Besides, her fanbase is mostly preteen girls, and their mothers would probably have a fit if she started singing about clubs and sex and alcohol. She so doesn’t need that.

So that leaves… what? Her experiences aren’t exactly relatable. She was homeschooled all her life, even before fame. She’s never even had a pet she can write about. Bellamy is going to be so annoyed at her.

-

“Alright, let’s see the list,” is the first thing he says when they’re back in the studio a week later. She had considered putting some make up on and doing her hair this time, but she doesn’t want Bellamy to think she’s trying to look good for _him_ , so she ends up looking like even more of a mess than the previous week.

“I didn’t come up with anything,” Clarke tells him.

“Did you even try?” Bellamy huffs.

“Yes!” Clarke declares angrily. “It’s not as easy as it sounds, okay?”

“Do I have to do everything myself?” he groans in exasperation. Clarke glares at him. “I should have known you’d have nothing to write about. Miss Pop Princess has never had a hardship in her life. Your daddy probably paid for your fame and you’ve never had to worry about a single thing your entire life,” Bellamy scoffs.

“It was my mother actually,” Clarke says flatly.

“What?” Bellamy groans disdainfully, like he doesn’t really care for the technicality.

“My mother paid for my fame, seeing as my dad died when I was fifteen,” Clarke says tersely.

“Oh,” Bellamy says lamely. “I’m sorry- I…” he trails off. “I know what it’s like to lose a parent.”

“Maybe don’t assume you know everything about people you don’t really know,” Clarke snaps and Bellamy flinches.

“I know, I’m sorry,” he nods. “Do you mind if I ask how he died?”

“He was shot. He saw a woman being mugged and he tried to help her but he didn’t realise the mugger had a gun. The girl and the mugger got away, but he didn’t,” Clarke explains impassively. She has to distance herself from the story, pretend she’s talking about someone she doesn’t really know, otherwise she’ll cry. It still hurts after all these years.

“He died a hero, Clarke,” Bellamy assures her.

“I’d rather he lived,” she replies. There’s a silence before Bellamy speaks again.

“You know, heartbreak isn’t always to do with relationships,” he tells her.

“What are you saying?” Clarke asks.

“I think you just found your first song topic.”

It takes them a few hours and a lot of tears but they eventually come up with this:

_You were their hero, but you were mine first_

_I had a way of always imagining the worst_

_But even my darkest nightmares could not compare to this_

_And it’s been years now, but it’s still you I miss_

_Thought you were immortal, but you were just a man_

_And you have to know that I was your biggest fan_

_And life without you has never been the same_

_Can’t fill the void with even fortune and fame_

 

_I always thought you’d live forever but I guess that I was wrong_

_Or maybe it just turns out forever isn’t that long_

_Though I’ll never see your face again I will be strong_

_And you will be forever immortalised in this song_

 

Clarke strums on her guitar and sings while Bellamy records her on his phone. She has to do a few takes before she can get through the whole song without crying. On the last recording she manages to choke out the last word before tears erupt from her eyes.

“I’m sorry,” she says to Bellamy as she wipes her eyes, trying to hide her tears from him, though she’s been crying on and off for the past two hours. “I just never really let myself think about it.”

“Hey, hey,” Bellamy says gently, putting his phone down and walking over to her. He surprises her then, putting his arms around her, firm but comforting, and she sinks into his embrace, burying her face against his shoulder. “It’s alright Clarke, you’re allowed to feel things. That’s what song writing is all about.”

“You probably think I’m so stupid,” Clarke half laughs, half sobs.

“For crying about your dad dying?” Bellamy says wryly. “I’d think you were stupid if you didn’t cry about it.”

Clarke lets herself cry on him for a while longer, and it feels nice to have someone to cry to because she feels like she’s never had that before. And he’s a really good hugger and she’s aware that his arms and chest are strong and hard and they feel _really_ nice. She could probably stay in his arms a lot longer, but she pulls away abruptly, because that is _not_ what she’s supposed to be thinking when he’s just being a good guy and trying to comfort her.

“I’m okay now,” she tells him as she steps back and he drops his arms.

“You sure?” he asks in genuine concern. Clarke feels a sudden rush of affection for him as she nods and wipes the residual tears from her cheeks. She smiles to show she’s fine, and Bellamy gives her a kind of lopsided grin back.

“You are not how I expected you’d be, Clarke Griffin,” he admits.

“How did you think I’d be?” she asks, though she’s pretty sure she knows.

“I thought you’d be shallow and bossy. I wasn’t really expecting you to let me teach you anything. Never thought I’d see you cry,” he raises an eyebrow.

“Well, don’t tell anyone what I’m really like. I have a reputation to protect,” Clarke jokes.

“I wouldn’t dare,” Bellamy grins back.

-

They write regularly together after that, over the next few weeks. Sometimes at the studio, sometimes at her house, sometimes at his house. Bellamy helps her turn her Stalker Finn Song into something salvageable and he lets her use some of _his_ experiences to write songs with. They aren’t successful _every_ time they write together, but they eventually have four semi-decent songs.

Somewhere along the way she realises they’re _friends,_ which is a far cry from the way he’d treated her the first time they met. She finds herself laughing at his jokes, which are quite often at her expense, but she know they aren’t malicious now.

He brings her coffee and writes her a terrible song about a man who couldn’t find his shoes so he used various different things in his kitchen instead, and Clarke always gets pizza without pineapple because she knows he hates it and texts him in the middle of the night with song ideas (even though he usually hates them).

“We still have to write a duet,” Clarke reminds him as they lay on the floor in her living room.

“Yeah, I’ve been thinking about that,” Bellamy says. “I know you’ve never been in love, but I think it should be a love song. You must be able to imagine what it’s like to be in love, and _I’ve_ been in love before, so it shouldn’t be that hard.”

“Yeah,” Clarke agrees, she’s been thinking something along the same lines.

“I thought we could listen to some duets to get an idea,” he says, pulling out his phone. They listen to a few, some old, some new, in all different genres (he even has some from musicals), but nothing really strikes her until he plays the song Falling Slowly from the musical Once. He turns to face her where they lie on the floor and starts singing along. She knows he’s just singing, and he’s not singing to _her_ but her heart starts thumping uncommonly hard.

“ _Falling slowly, eyes that know me_

_And I can't go back_

_Moods that take me and erase me_

_And I'm painted black_

_You have suffered enough_

_And warred with yourself_

_It's time that you won,”_ Bellamy sings and Clarke feels her stomach flip over, even as she loses herself in the husky emotion of his voice. He always sings like he means it.

“I like that one,” Clarke whispers as the song finishes.

“Me too,” Bellamy grins, glancing at his phone. “Oh shit,” he exclaims, jumping up from the floor. “What is it?” Clarke asks, sitting up.

“I just realised I’m late for something,” he tells her quickly. “I’ll send you the rest of the songs so you can keep listening.” He places a chaste kiss on the top of her head as he rushes out the door and Clarke’s heart stutters, her stomach doing flips again. She’s pretty sure he doesn’t even realise what he did, and he’s not going to be thinking about that tiny gesture for hours later, but _she_ does, and that’s how she knows she’s screwed.

He sends her the rest of the duets he’d had lined up and as she plays Everything Has Changed by Taylor Swift and Ed Sheeran, suddenly every lyric relates to Bellamy, and it’s the same when the next song plays, and the next one, and when the last song, the duet from Tangled plays, she _does_ see the light, and she’s happy and sad and scared at the same time and she has no idea what to do next.

-

She tries to pretend everything’s the same at first. Hopes he won’t notice how her pulse quickens every time they touch, how she blushes at every compliment. He’s so oblivious and it’s excruciating and endearing at the same time. But she realises she can’t keep acting like she doesn’t have feelings for him forever or it will probably kill her.

She has to tell him, she decides. He’s at her house again, a week or so later, and he’s singing her another silly made up song while he plays his guitar and she’s grinning at him, but not because of anything he’s singing (in truth she’s not even listening to the words), but just because he’s so _adorable._

She’s scared to tell him how she feels, if she’s honest, but that’s not the main problem. They’ve been spending so much time together, and he rarely mentions any other girls except for his sister, and sometimes he does things (like kiss her on the head, or pull her into a hug and then hold onto her for longer than necessary) that make her think _maybe,_ just _maybe_ he might feel something for her too. So the hard thing isn’t getting the courage to tell him. The hard thing is figuring out how and what to tell him. She tries, she really does. But the timing never seems right, or the words stick in her mouth. She’ll get tongue tied and instead of saying “hey guess what, I think I might be in love with you” she says, “you’re the fucking worst.”

And she knows it should be as easy as “I love you.” But it just doesn’t feel right. It seems insincere somehow, when so many other people have used the same words before her. And she’s a songwriter now. So she decides she’ll write him a song.

They don’t get much done that day, which only fuels her hopes that he has feelings for her, because he seemed to just be there for the pleasure of her company, rather than doing any actual songwriting. But after he’s gone she locks herself in her room with her guitar and a notepad and starts pouring her heart out.

It’s still hard though. It’s hard to put love into words, even now she knows what it feels like. It takes her all night, but she finally gets something down that she’s proud of.

She texts Bellamy that she’s coming over as soon as it hits 8am the next morning, her stomach filled with butterflies. He lets her in and presents her with a coffee. He’s all dishevelled, his black curls all over the place, like he’s just got out of bed. Her heart skips a beat at the sight of him and she wonders if she can actually do this.

“So, um,” she starts as she takes the coffee from him and sits it down on the coffee table. “I think I wrote a song we could use for our duet,” she tells him.

“Without me?” Bellamy raises and eyebrow but he doesn’t seem genuinely hurt about it.

“Yeah, well I just had some ideas… about love, and I-,” Clarke rambles. She can barely look at him she’s so nervous.

“But you’ve never been in love,” Bellamy reminds her, quirking an eyebrow.

“Right,” Clarke nods. “But what if I told you I have been?” she says nervously. Bellamy’s eyes widen and she hurries to speak before he can say anything. “Just let me play the song?” Bellamy nods and Clarke perches on the edge of one of the lounge chairs with her guitar as Bellamy sinks into the couch. She doesn’t look at him while she plays, instead choosing to focus on the guitar and the emotion she’s trying to convey. She clears her throat before she begins, because it feels like her heart is lodged somewhere up there and she’s worried nothing will come out of her mouth. But she plays the first chord and starts singing, and somehow she calms down with every note.

“ _I’d like to tell you what it’s like,_

_the way I feel for you inside._

_But the words just won’t come out._

_I don’t think you’d believe them anyhow_

 

_There’s so many things that I’d like to say,_

_but they all sound like the same old cliche._

_I don’t know how to tell you how I feel,_

_I can’t think of anything that sounds slightly real._

_But if I hold you,_

_if I touch you,_

_if I kiss you_

_would you believe me then?_

_Would you believe me then?”_

She chances a glance at him when she finishes the first chorus, but his expression is unreadable so she focuses on the guitar again.

“ _Sometimes words are used too much._

_They lose their meaning, they aren’t enough._

_I’m tired of holding back the truth._

_Would you believe me if I told you?_

_There’s so many things that I’d like to say,_

_but they all sound like the same old cliche._

_I don’t know how to tell you how I feel,_

_I can’t think of anything that sounds slightly real._

_But if I hold you,_

_if I touch you,_

_if I kiss you_

_would you believe me then?_

_Would you believe me then?”_

A key change, a deep breath, and then:

“ _Those words have been used thousands of times before._

_So much I don’t even know what they mean anymore._

_So many people everyday, everyone using the same cliche._

_I’m not the first, and I’m not the last_

_to say things that I don’t mean in the past._

_This time I mean it, what I say._

_But would you believe me anyway?_ ”

She pours her heart into the last chorus, her voice shaking a little as she sings the word kiss, before she sings the last line.

“ _Believe me now, I love you._ ”

She can’t bring herself to look at him right away, letting the last chord ring out before letting her eyes flick up to his, the overwhelming anxiousness she’d been feeling earlier returning. She can’t tell what he’s thinking, and he doesn’t speak right away. He swallows and then opens his mouth as if to speak, but his phone starts ringing and he mouths an apology at her as her answers it.

“Hey,” he says, turning away from Clarke. “No, yeah I remember. I’ve just got to shower and then I’ll be there. Alright, bye.” He hangs up and turns back to Clarke, and she there’s nothing she can say. She’s practically shaking and she just needs him to _say_ something before she explodes. Bellamy hesitates before speaking again, and Clarke knows it can’t be good. She can feel dread pooling in her stomach.

“That was Gina Martin,” he tells her. Okay, not exactly what she’d been expecting to hear.

“The jazz singer?” Clarke manages to ask and Bellamy nods.

“She’s, uh…” Bellamy scratches the back of his neck. “We’ve kind of been seeing each other for a couple of weeks.”

“Oh,” Clarke chokes out, feeling her whole stomach drop. “God, of course. I’m such an idiot I-,” she rambles, until Bellamy stops her.

“Listen, Clarke,” Bellamy starts, but Clarke can already hear the pity in his voice and she doesn’t want to listen. What she wants is to get out of there as fast as possible.

“It’s fine, Bellamy,” she says quickly, standing up, holding her guitar by the neck and turning to go. “You don’t owe me anything. It was just a song anyway. Forget I said anything.” She’s babbling, she knows. Anything so she doesn’t have to hear him say it, that he doesn’t feel the same. Anything to stop the tears that are threatening to spill out of her eyes, stop the violent sob she can feel building in her throat.

“Clarke, please,” Bellamy follows her to the door. “I want to-,” he tries but Clarke cuts him off again.

“I’ll see you around, Bell,” she smiles shakily as she walks out of his apartment without looking back. He calls after her but doesn’t follow her, and that tells Clarke all she needs to know, if his lack of words hadn’t already. She finally lets herself cry once she’s in the elevator. Hard, ugly sobs that come from her chest and totally wreck her. She leans against the wall, crying like she never has before.

Lincoln’s waiting for her on the street and he immediately stands to attention when he sees her.

“What did he do?” Lincoln growls. “Do I need to fight him?”

“He didn’t do anything, Lincoln,” Clarke shakes her head, sniffing. She isn’t really done crying but Lincoln doesn’t need to know how bad it really is. “It’s not his fault I’m a complete idiot.”

“Hey,” Lincoln says seriously, putting his hands on her shoulders. “He’s the idiot if he can’t see what a catch you are,” he tells her and Clarke nods before he pulls her into a hug.

“Thanks,” Clarke says half-heartedly. “Can we just go home now?”

-

Bellamy calls her multiple times that afternoon, but she doesn’t bother picking up. She still feels incredibly foolish about the whole thing, and more than that, it _hurts._ She also ignores calls from Indra and Kane, who are probably calling to check in how the song writing is going, and Anya, who is probably calling to tell her not to leave the house without make up anymore.

Instead of doing anything she’s _supposed_ to be doing, she just lies on her bed face down, crying until there aren’t any more tears left. She knows it’s probably all her own fault. It’s not like her led her on, she was just stupid to get her hopes up.

She cringes when she thinks of that morning. She told him she _loved_ him, and he knows she never loved anyone before. And it’s embarrassing because she poured her heart out while he sat there awkwardly, having to listen to her declare her love for him while he never felt anything more for her than friendship.

Clarke cries on and off for a few hours, but then she realises how _pathetic_ she is. It’s not like they were together. Is she even allowed to cry over someone she never even had a chance with? It seems stupid, but she has all these feelings because she’s still in love, but she’s hurt and she’s sad and embarrassed. And it’s strange but she also feels… lonely. She’s never been someone who needed a relationship to feel whole, but she’d actually thought, for a split second, that there might be something with Bellamy. And now that there’s not, it hits her how alone she actually is. The most constant people in her life are people that work for her. She barely even sees her mother anymore. And then Bellamy was there all the time, and she got used to it. It’s only been half a day without him and she already feels his absence in her bones.

So she grabs her guitar and starts strumming and she sings her heart into lyrics and she writes them down on paper and records them on her phone.

She writes well into the night, and by morning she’s written another four songs. They’re all about Bellamy of course, and she wonders how someone she’s known hardly any longer than a month can make her feel so much.

-

Bellamy calls her at various intervals the next day too, but Clarke still refuses to pick up. She finally does take a call from Indra though, who yells at her for not answering her phone and then tells her she wants to hear the songs she and Bellamy have written because they need to hurry up and get recording. She hangs up from Indra and while she’s sending through some of her phone recordings through she hears her intercom buzz.

“Yes?” she says as she presses the button.

“Clarke, it’s Bellamy.” Clarke’s stomach drops as soon as she hears his deep voice through the intercom. She doesn’t respond, doesn’t know how to. “I really need to talk to you.”

“I’m busy right now,” Clarke says finally, trying to make her voice steady.

“Clarke, please,” Bellamy says, sounding desperate. “It will only take a second. And then if you still want me to leave, I’ll leave.” Clarke hesitates, but Bellamy doesn’t speak again. She eventually buzzes him up and waits, her stomach churning, feeling a million different emotions at once. He gets to her door and knocks and she swings it open immediately.

“Hey,” he says gently when she opens the door. She stands out of the way to let him in and shivers as he brushes past her.

“Can we make this quick? Like I said I’m busy. I have an album to record,” Clarke says forcefully. She sees Bellamy flinch and immediately feels bad. It’s not _his_ fault she made an idiot of herself.

“I know Clarke,” Bellamy sighs. “But you don’t have to…” he trails off.

“Don’t have to what?” Clarke prompts and Bellamy shrugs. “You said you needed to talk to me, so what is it you need to say?”

“Look, Gina and I-,” he starts and Clarke feels her gut clench at the mention of his girlfriend’s name.

“Bellamy,” she interjects. “You don’t have to explain this to me. I get it, okay? I didn’t realise you were seeing someone. I’m hurt, but I’ll get over it. I’ll get over you. Just let me have some time and we can go back to being friends.”

“That’s just it, Clarke,” Bellamy says in exasperation. “If you’d just listen to me for five seconds you’d know that I don’t want you to get over me. Gina and I weren’t serious. We went on like two dates, and she’s cool but she’s not you, okay?”

“Me?” Clarke squeaks, also noting the past tense her uses in reference to his relationship with Gina, but hardly daring to get her hopes up just yet.

“Yeah, you,” Bellamy rolls his eyes and shakes his head. “I didn’t know you liked me. You said you’d never been in love, and I thought maybe you were aromantic. I didn’t want to torture myself with feelings you could never return.”

“But you like me?” Clarke asks. Her heart is thumping so loud she’s not sure she heard him correctly.

“Yeah, I like you,” Bellamy smiles wryly. “I might even like you a bit more than like.”

“Yeah?” Clarke grins.

“Yeah,” Bellamy nods.

“How much more?” Clarke pushes and Bellamy rolls his eyes and finally just pulls her in to kiss her. Clarke hums in satisfaction as their lips meet and she curls her arms around his neck. He pulls back after a moment and brushes her nose with his.

“I love you, okay?” he whispers.

“Okay,” Clarke agrees, hardly aware of what she’s saying she’s so ecstatic.

“You want me to write a song about it?” Bellamy chuckles and Clarke can feel those butterflies again as she smiles, bringing her lips to his again, ever so slightly.

“I want you to write a whole album about it,” she tells him before Bellamy deepens the kiss, letting his tongue slide into her mouth. It could be minutes or if could be hours and Clarke wouldn’t be able to tell, but eventually they’re interrupted by Clarke’s phone ringing. She doesn’t really want to answer but it’s Indra so she figures she should.

“I’m sorry,” she says to Bellamy as she picks up.

“Most of these are pretty good,” Indra muses, obviously having listened to Clarke’s recordings. “That Bellamy guy must have been a good influence on you. We’ll get you into the studio next week, but we’ll still need a few more songs.”

“I think I have some new inspiration,” Clarke tells her with a grin at Bellamy.

-

Bellamy does write an entire album about her, and he gains a load of teenage fans when they announce to the public that they’re dating, much to Bellamy’s (clearly false) dismay.

“You love it,” Clarke laughs at him whenever he complains about all the tweets he gets from girls asking him to marry them.

“Sure, I love getting marriage proposals from fourteen year old girls on a daily basis,” Bellamy says sarcastically.

“Hey, at least those ones are better than the ones asking to see your dick,” Clarke points out. Bellamy grimaces.

Although Bellamy’s album does do well, it’s nothing compared to the success of Clarke’s self titled album, which break records and suddenly everyone’s pretending they never said anything bad about her. Which is fine, Clarke supposes, but it doesn’t really matter to her now anyway, because as long as she has Bellamy on her side, she doesn’t really care what anyone else thinks.

**Author's Note:**

> All original lyrics (aka the ones not from Falling Slowly) written by me!  
> If you want to hear what Believe Me Then (the song Clarke sang for Bellamy) sounds like, you can listen to it [here!](https://soundcloud.com/emily-jade-smith-881167997/believe-me-then)
> 
>  
> 
> Apologies for the bad recording, and I don't play guitar but it would sound something like this!


End file.
